


fret not, dear heart

by dragon_rider



Series: Oh, darling, please be mine [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Family Feels, Fluff and Smut, Geralt Fluff Week (The Witcher), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Hugs, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Kaer Morhen, M/M, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:20:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25835647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragon_rider/pseuds/dragon_rider
Summary: It can mean anything you want.If Jaskier wasn’t human, maybe it could mean what the Witcher wanted; decades and decades ahead of them, together through the ages.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Oh, darling, please be mine [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1865434
Comments: 8
Kudos: 408
Collections: Geralt Fluff Week 2020





	fret not, dear heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elder-flower (elder_flower)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elder_flower/gifts).



> hello, im super late and there's supposed to be something before this in the series but since it might never get done, here. have my attempt at days 2, 3 and 4 of Geralt fluff week.
> 
> as always, all the love to my beta [elder-flower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elder_flower/pseuds/elder-flower)

Winter was coming, as it did every year.

Geralt did not have much coin, even when jobs were good. People usually overcharged him for simple things and he dared not complain, especially not when he had a beautiful, loving barker as a partner, who sang his heart out to tell of the Witcher’s good deeds and contributed with his own coin for their every need. During a brief separation, with Jaskier gone to perform for some countess or other, he nonetheless made the most of the time by buying supplies for their travel to the mountains in Kaedwen.

Kaer Morhen was one of the coldest places on the Continent and his bard hated the cold.

(He had not asked his lover whether he’d like to come or not. He’d decided to focus on the practicalities until the poet shared his plans for the upcoming season.)

Geralt had saved all he could to buy him the warmest clothes he could afford. They weren’t fashionable like Jaskier’s usual attire was and that worried him enough to contact Yennefer.

They were on good terms, and he was half certain she would do what he wanted, if he paid enough or had something that interested her.

“I’m sorry, you want me to do what?” she cackled, clearly making fun of him.

The Witcher cared not, as long as she did as he was asking.

“I want you to turn these plain clothes into something… pretty.” He cleared his throat and frowned, looking down at the bundle he’d left on her table. “Something Jaskier would wear.”

The sorceress sobered up quickly and waved her hand at the clothes, the blacks and greys turning into rich burgundies, blues and reds, golden stitches replacing the previous dull threads.

“Thank you.” Geralt tilted his head down and put his coin purse in front of her. “Take what I owe you.”

“I’d like to visit Ciri as payment,” she said primly, bypassing his money and getting up in a flourish of fabric. “I’ll start packing.”

Geralt pinched the bridge of his nose and waited, knowing he had no choice but to comply.

Ciri would no doubt be happy with Yen’s visit.

Travelling along both his ex and his current lover, however, that was not… well. That was not what he had hoped for.

***

He braced himself for a dramatic confrontation when Jaskier opened the door to their room and he walked inside, Yennefer following close behind.

“Witch,” Jaskier greeted her calmly.

“Bard,” Yen deadpanned.

They broke into peals of laughter the next second, leaving Geralt to stare at them in turn.

What the fuck?

“I see you got what you wanted at last,” the sorceress pointed out, grinning crookedly.

“I heard you got what you wanted too,” Jaskier replied with a little bow of his head, beaming. “Good for you, I’m glad.”

The Witcher blinked, needing a minute to understand they were talking about him and Ciri, respectively. He leaned into the poet when he walked to his side and threw an arm around his shoulders, casually but visibly staking his claim on the older man, cheek against his arm, eyes fixed on their guest.

“Ciri is lucky to have you,” the poet commented. “I think we all are, wouldn’t you say, love?”

Geralt smirked as Yennefer froze, clearly not expecting the genuine compliment and not used to them.

The Witcher could relate, but he was slowly getting used to all sorts of good things with Jaskier by his side.

“We are,” he agreed.

“I have some shopping to do before we go.” The sorceress grabbed his other arm, voice a little tight as she changed the subject, eyes staring straight ahead. “You can both accompany me to the market.”

“Sure! That would be lovely.” Geralt's bard was, unsurprisingly, very on board with the idea of wasting what money he could there. “I want to buy Ciri a journal! What are you getting her?”

The Witcher smiled softly as he was led by them, relieved he’d been wrong about two of the most important people in his life not getting along.

***

It was an experience, walking around town with stares of a new kind on him.

The townsfolk weren’t afraid or hateful. Though some were… jealous? (Geralt could not blame them) the animosity was only that; envious looks.

Many others called out to them, recognizing the trio and wishing to greet them, even getting close enough to touch if they dared.

Not many did, with Geralt fixing a warning look on them unless they were little children and wanted to cling to Jaskier’s legs in excitement or pull at Yen’s skirts to get a conjured flower as a gift.

“Master Jaskier!”

“White Wolf!”

“Yennefer of Vengerberg!”

His lover preened under the attention, masterfully maneuvering it until most of it was on him instead of on the still distrustful Witcher and the prickly witch.

“Were those buttercups, sweet Yennefer?” Jaskier asked once they arrived at the first stand of the market, filled with silks of all colours, his smile teasing but his eyes elated. “Truly, I’m honored.”

“Shut up, Jaskier.” The sorceress rolled her eyes, but Geralt had seen the little weeds too as she’d handed them to a few children. “You are so full of yourself, I should turn you into a toad.”

“I’d rather be a fox, if it’s all the same to you.” The bard shrugged at the threat and Yennefer looked daggers at him, raising a hand and yet not getting the reaction she wanted for; Jaskier just blinked and smiled cheekily at her. “Surely, you admit it’d suit me more.”

“No enchanting the bard,” Geralt growled, stepping in between them.

“Killjoy,” Yen huffed at him. “Love has turned you so boring, Witcher.”

“I think the word you meant was ‘happy’,” Jaskier cut in, peeking from behind the bulk of his lover’s body to look at the witch. “I make him happy, and motherhood has turned you soft, Yennefer, let’s just all accept these facts. They’re not bad!”

“Say that again,” the sorceress said, her fingertips sparkling with violet magic. “See just how soft I really am.”

Geralt turned around hurriedly and covered Jaskier’s mouth before he could say anything else.

His bard kissed his palm and winked, and the Witcher sighed in fond exasperation.

***

Jaskier had wandered on his own for a while in the market. The Witcher had tried not to be paranoid about his lover getting into trouble but he did have a spectacular talent for it, so he followed at a proper distance to give him privacy but also make sure no harm would come to him.

“You’re not so sneaky as you think, my love.” The troubadour pecked him on the nose, right in front of everyone, when he reunited with him and Yennefer at another stand. “But, here. It’s done, finally! Try it on.”

It was a silver ring with a wolf's head engraved on it, just like the one on his medallion but smaller and entwined with a bouquet of buttercups which had golden details in them.

It was delicate work and most likely had cost the bard a small fortune but he placed it on the Witcher’s left ring finger as if it was nothing out of the ordinary.

“It can mean anything you want it to,” Jaskier promised, kissing Geralt’s stunned mouth chastely. “I’ve been in this town before and the blacksmith does exquisite work, so I thought… why not?”

The Witcher felt the most peculiar thing: a fluttering in his chest, as if his heart was ready to take flight and soar.

He cupped his partner’s face and kissed him breathless, pulling him close to his body, uncaring of their audience and the catcalls that followed.

“Come with me,” he rasped against the shorter man’s lips, “to Kaer Morhen.”

_I want everyone to know you._

_I can’t spend three days, let alone three months without you_ , he couldn’t say.

By the twinkle in Jaskier’s blue eyes, he didn’t need to.

“Of course, dear heart,” he whispered back, nuzzling against his nose as he held onto Geralt’s biceps. “There’s no place I’d rather be than by your side, always.”

“Are you quite done?” Yennefer’s tone was thoroughly unimpressed but the smile on her face gave her away. “I want to go to the apothecary next.”

Jaskier took the Witcher’s left hand in his and bowed at her to lead on, his other arm doing a very exaggerated flourish as if he were in front of a queen.

“After you, my lady.”

Geralt snorted at Yen pretending to be offended while still smiling.

He loved the positive effect his partner had on people, even the most traumatized and damaged of them.

***

He hated portals, so he resolutely refused to go through one and make Roach and Jaskier go through it too.

The Wolves’ keep couldn’t be reached by magic anyway, so they would still have a ways to go even with Yennefer’s convenient trick.

Jaskier had won a white stallion in some bardic competition and named the animal Pegasus. The horse was really taken with Roach, but Geralt’s mare did not give him the time of day and threatened to kick him whenever he got too close. His bard had fun narrating their ‘tragic love story’, even composing a few ditties about it.

Yennefer’s mount was a black mare with yellow eyes that was meek but steadfast. She was the most obvious in her liking of Jaskier’s strumming and singing and Jaskier, who could and would play for hours unprompted, loved the way her ears would move in his direction and the little whinnies the mare would let out at some points in his songs.

“I should’ve taken your fucking money,” the sorceress would complain to Geralt every now and then.

Geralt just replied with a look each time, knowing she wouldn’t confess she was actually having a good time and that she’d go through anything to see Ciri again anyway.

***

They were in their room at the last town’s inn when Geralt got frustrated at himself and just threw the bag of winter clothing at his partner.

Jaskier caught it with quick reflexes and beamed at him.

“Oh, is it for me?” the bard asked with a little jump, which had Geralt’s bad mood dissipating quickly. “Thank you, darling! These are so lovely. The fabric is so thick and warm! I love the colours and the finishing touches are superb.”

Geralt did not mention Yennefer’s help or his own inability to provide such things from a tailor, but the clothes did fit his lover perfectly, which the bard demonstrated by stripping and trying everything on, even the big cloak, hiding under it to look up coyly at the Witcher.

“I’m still going to need you to hold me often, sweetheart. I’m very sensitive to the cold, as you know.”

“Hmm.”

Geralt could not resist embracing him and kiss the smile on his face, warm satisfaction curling in his belly at having done well and getting to hold his bard close to him.

***

The weather on the way up the mountain was surprisingly mild. It was cold, but not very, and he watched Jaskier pulling the hood of his new dark blue cloak down, looking up to let the sunshine touch his features.

The sky was completely clear of clouds.

“Weather is weird,” he huffed. It was too fucking warm and sunny for this time of year. “It should be snowing.”

“Now, now, my love,” Jaskier tutted, leading Pegasus after him cheerfully and quietly for once. “We don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, do we? Enjoy the sun!”

He exhaled again, looking around for the threat his medallion was trying to warn him about, vibrating slowly against his chest. He wished they could stop so he could protect Jaskier bodily from whatever it was that was about to pounce.

“For fuck’s sake, settle down, Geralt,” Yennefer chided. “I can assure you, no human could affect the weather this way, not even your old friend Stregobor.”

“Then what the fuck is doing this?” he barked.

“A sylph,” the witch replied casually. “They’re elemental spirits of air, not malign beings.”

“I thought they were just legend,” he scowled, hand still itching for his sword.

“Like golden dragons?” Jaskier laughed cheerfully. “I’m sorry, my love, you are wonderful but you don’t know everything. No one does.”

“Except me,” Yennefer corrected with a smirk.

“Except Yennefer,” his bard indulged her with a tilt of his head. 

His lover’s eyes looked terribly distracting and blue against the white around them. For a moment, they even seemed to glow.

His medallion vibrated harder, then went completely still.

Geralt calmed down with it, accepting Yen’s explanation, and looked forward to telling Eskel about elementals being so close to their keep.

***

“GERALT! YEN!” Ciri’s shout was loud even from outside the entrance and Geralt just about had time to hop off Roach before getting tackled by his Child Surprise.

“Hello, Ciri,” he greeted, chin against her ashy hair, picking her up and spinning her around because she always smiled the brightest when he did that.

The girl held him tight for a moment and then moved on to Yennefer, squeezing her waist and talking excitedly about the things she’d learned in the sorceress’s absence.

“Jaskier?” She peeked around Yennefer, perking up as she caught sight of the bard smiling gently at the scene.

“Greetings, my lady." The poet bowed to her, formal but fond, and somehow knew to wait low for Ciri to climb onto his back, shouldering the weight with no effort.

They laughed like old friends and continued inside, with Jaskier giving Ciri a ride, the ex-princess muttering into his ear too quickly for the Witcher to catch any words. 

Geralt shared a confused look with Yennefer.

“He kept tabs on Ciri, back when you were busy denying your destiny,” his mentor’s voice explained from behind him.

He tensed briefly, then sighed in defeat. Some things would not change. He couldn’t believe the old man could still get the jump on him after hundreds of winters.

“Vesemir.” He lowered his head, showing his respect to his mentor and the older Witcher grasped his shoulder briefly in their usual salute.

“You look well, Geralt.” the old man turned to greet Yen with a simple, “Yennefer.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” Jaskier did a little bow, right arm crossed over his chest, fist right over his heart.

“Bard,” his mentor nodded, seemingly in approval. “Just Vesemir will do.”

He hadn’t said he was bringing anybody. He had tried writing a letter to send to the older Witcher telling him about his companion but found himself unable to explain the situation in a way he was comfortable with. 

Vesemir took their visitors in stride and guided them inside all the same.

“Jaskier!” More yells echoed from the hall.

Geralt watched, bewildered, as Lambert and Eskel crowded close to his bard to receive a hug, Ciri still on the poet’s back, laughing and leaping down to hug them too.

“Come, love, you’re missing out.” Jaskier beckoned him with just a warm look and he found himself walking to them and huffing as his brothers, his daughter and his partner somehow all found places to hold him, foreheads pressed together and arms going round in a big circle.

“You didn’t say you knew them,” the Witcher accused. The troubadour patted his cheek, already having taken off his gloves, his skin warm and soft against Geralt's own.

“You’re still my favorite, sweetheart.”

Geralt kept glaring at his lover.

Godsdamn it, if Jaskier had slept with any of them, he was going to have an apoplexy, mutations or not.

“I knew you’d be a jealous bastard,” Lambert mocked him, patting Geralt’s back roughly. “Eskel, you owe me twenty ducats.”

“Welcome home, brother.” Eskel was the first to pull out of the hug after squeezing Geralt’s shoulders for a moment. He reached into his pockets to hand the younger Witcher the coins. “Good to see you finally got your head out of your ass. Nice ring. You owe me forty ducats, Lambert.”

Lambert cursed colorfully and Jaskier made a show of covering Ciri’s ears as they giggled.

“This is going to be the best winter ever!” the girl cheered, taking Geralt and Yen’s hands in hers to lead them to the kitchens. “Come, it’s time for supper.”

Even Yennefer was smirking at him, Jaskier walking behind them with his arms around his brothers’ shoulders.

“Now what is this I’m hearing about bets, gentlemen?”

***

They were finally alone in Geralt’s room; Jaskier had pulled the lone chair in the room right into the middle and pointed until the older man complied and sat so his lover could, of all things, brush his hair and then braid it.

Braids were… nice. They stopped his hair from getting tangled at night.

Jaskier would need to do more if he expected Geralt to walk with a braid around his brothers, however. He wasn’t just going to hand them over more teasing material.

It wasn’t the first time Jaskier had brushed his hair, but the Witcher still got puzzled by the simple act.

How careful his lover was with each lock, how he’d never tug painfully, not even after days of Geralt not having time to comb his long, white hair so it was basically a nest of knots. Afterwards, mainly at night when they were at an inn, Jaskier would even braid his hair and shush him every time he complained about the extra attention.

How he’d hum and kiss his temple every now and then, whenever he could tell the older man was getting too much into his own head, usually remembering he hadn’t actually done anything to deserve this wonderful man beside him, loving him this much.

Their first night in the keep didn’t have him too maudlin; he was feeling something else--something warm and pleasant and new, the same thing he’d felt when Jaskier had put the ring on his finger with no hesitation and only gentle encouragement. 

_It can mean anything you want_.

If Jaskier wasn’t human, maybe it could mean what the Witcher wanted; decades and decades ahead of them, together through the ages.

As it was, it meant Geralt would die a little with each passing year, each wrinkle and grey hair and illness that his partner got.

“You’re thinking really loudly, my dear.” The bard bopped him on the nose with his index finger, hands going on his hips as he stood in front of Geralt armed with all his significant charm. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?”

“Hmm.” He drew his lover between his spread legs and started kissing the long expanse of his throat. "I’m thinking it was a shame Lambert and Eskel were in the hot springs with us. I wanted you.”

Jaskier laughed and went willingly, arms encircling the Witcher’s neck. “Try again, love. And be careful with that past tense or I might get miffed despite the lovely day we’ve had.”

“I want you, always,” he amended roughly, pausing in his ministrations to look up at his partner.

“I sense there’s a but in there somewhere." The bard smiled at him, supportive, and sat on his lap as he kissed him, loving and determined. “What is it?”

The Witcher deepened the kiss instead of replying and put his hands beneath his lover’s thighs to pick him up and carry him to the bed, lying him down gently as he undid the laces of his trousers.

Jaskier let him be for a while, helping him undress and returning the heady touches and kisses until they were both panting and eager, rutting against each other and clutching desperately for more.

Then, as he often did, he caught the Witcher off guard and pressed him down onto the mattress with a smug smile.

“I think I know what you need, dear heart,” he announced, licking his right hand sinfully before wrapping it around Geralt’s length.

“You,” right the fuck now. Geralt gritted his teeth, hips thrusting unevenly along with Jaskier’s pumping.

His lover sucked a bruise right over his hipbone as he kneeled between his legs, his free hand reaching to hold Geralt’s as the Witcher clasped his nape to help guide the bard where he wanted him.

The brunet licked his lips as he stared up, right into his eyes, and took him into his mouth by increments; Geralt was big, so big most avoided pleasuring him in this manner, but his partner was nothing if not overachieving and he took to the task with enthusiasm, moaning around him in a way that had the Witcher cursing and struggling to control himself so he wouldn’t make his bard gag.

“Fuck, your mouth.” Jaskier’s tongue caught his slit as he was bobbing his head up, and somehow his cornflower blue eyes were half-lidded and hungry, but also loving and trusting. “Fuck, Jaskier, I--”

His words still didn’t come easy, not even in the middle of their passion, but his companion was so good at making him feel like he was saying what he ought even though he was not, could not yet.

The poet hollowed his cheeks beautifully, nose pressed against the Witcher’s pubic hair, eyelids fluttering as he sucked before moving up again, tongue licking the sensitive vein on the underside. Geralt growled loudly, fucking into the wet, perfect heat his lover was offering, letting go almost without realizing, vaguely feeling his ring catching in the strands of Jaskier’s brown hair.

He pulled his lover off and brought him up to bite at his neck as he finished in long stripes between them.

The poet whimpered but his cock leaked when Geralt’s teeth pierced his skin the slightest bit, tiny drops of blood trickling out of the wound as the Witcher stroked him with his left hand, sloppy but sure.

He loved how loud Jaskier was, coming with a shout while digging blunt nails into his back, and how boneless they both ended up, entangled in each other and trying to get their breath back.

“Gods, I love you so much,” the bard babbled between lazy kisses.

The Witcher hummed, getting a sleepy smile as he used his discarded shirt to wipe the spend on them as best he could without water.

They could bathe in the morning, early enough that they’d have the hot springs for themselves and not have to worry about prying eyes.

Satisfied, he threw the dirty, sweaty sheet off their bed too and made a cocoon around Jaskier with his body, covering them both with enough furs and quilts that he’d be roasting in a little while, but his bard would be warm and safe.

He was dozing lightly, trying but failing not to think about how one day he would not have the man in his arms anymore, when his companion turned in his embrace and cupped his cheeks to rouse him.

“I promise you, dear heart, we have all the time in the world for this and more.”

The medallion on his chest vibrated at the same time Jaskier’s eyes shone with supernatural light, his skin and hair glowing with the same light blue hue.

“You’re not human,” Geralt stated the obvious and his lover nuzzled into his neck, glossy, translucent wings flapping on his back and almost brushing the Witcher's nose.

Geralt’s finger traced one with reverence and Jaskier shivered, nestling closer.

His wings felt smooth and paper-thin, shiny gold dust coming off them as the Witcher explored them with his fingertips.

“You’re not mad.” His partner didn’t sound surprised, just delighted. “I wanted to tell you much sooner, truly, but I’m still not supposed to--”

“The sylph,” Geralt interrupted, tilting Jaskier’s chin up to look into those luminous eyes. “It’s you.”

The elemental spirit nodded. “Thank the Gods for your quick wit, my love.”

“So all this time, you could make the cold go away,” Geralt pointed out, eyebrow quirking. “At will.”

“Well, yes, but the cold is lovely for cuddling, wouldn’t you agree?” his lover sassed him, playful. “You wouldn’t allow me close without an excuse back then! I had to make compromises.”

Geralt laughed, peppering Jaskier’s face with kisses until he stopped glowing and went back to looking human, the wolf medallion settling down against his chest.

His heart, however, was still thrumming frenziedly--not fast, never that, but hard and booming between his ribs.

He wondered if Jaskier had been able to hear it all along.

The twinkle in his eyes said he might have.

“Just a humble bard, huh?” 

“I never said I was just a humble _human_ bard, did I?”

“Hmm.”

Thank the Gods, indeed.


End file.
